


Natevember 2020

by marimoes



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: All warnings will be labeled, As well as rating, Ficlet Collection, Gen, M/M, Natevember 2020, Not that I anticipate many, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tags will be in notes of each chapter, mostly Rated G
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:40:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 14,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27333571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marimoes/pseuds/marimoes
Summary: One month full of nothing but prompts about our favorite Howe.List of prompts can be foundhere.
Relationships: Anders & Nathaniel Howe, Anders/Nathaniel Howe, Delilah Howe & Nathaniel Howe, Female Cousland & Nathaniel Howe, Female Cousland/Nathaniel Howe, Male Hawke & Nathaniel Howe, Nathaniel Howe & Bethany Hawke, Nathaniel Howe & Sigrun, Nathaniel Howe & Warden, Thomas Howe & Nathaniel Howe
Comments: 25
Kudos: 20





	1. Ache

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Natevember! This chapter is rated G. Nathaniel Howe & Female Cousland. Fluff, Hot springs, and getting Nathaniel to relax.

There are times few and far between that Nathaniel would refer to situations on the road as “good.” Usually, they are filled with mostly neutral situations and other times bad. Nothing good really happens to them, not recently at least. 

But when they stumble upon a large assortment of hot springs, Nathaniel can’t say he won’t be looking for assassins sitting in the trees above waiting to strike. It would only be reasonable, he thinks, for even a good place to have bad things. 

“Everyone go relax,” Mags commands, already actively tugging her hair down. It shakes loose into crimped strands of dark sweat soaked hair, and Nathaniel knows his will likely look the same in a few minutes. “We’re fine here for a little while and I’ll make sure to stay close to the front to keep watch.” 

Nathaniel hears Anders snort next to him and tension draws to his neck in an instant in defense to the unspoken jab the mage is about to make. 

“You’re going to, what, bathe and keep watch at the same time? What if someone shows up? You’ll draw your daggers on them, snark naked?” Anders asks, tucking his arms across his chest. 

Mags’ brows furrow with lips pressed into a tight line. _Great job, Anders._

“You doubt me?” She asks, taking a step towards him with a hand pulling a dagger from its sheath. “Tell me Anders, if I came charging at you with this, would you even think about what I was wearing?” 

Both Nathaniel and Velanna look to Anders who quietly blanches. The back of his head is scratched with a single shaking finger beneath his ponytail’s base and his face blooms a new shade of red. 

“I-I-hm—” 

“Alright, _stop it_. You’re giving me a damned headache,” Nathaniel grumbles, pressing his fingers tight against the bridge of his nose. “My back still hurts from our choice of bed last night and if we could just _sit_ even that would be better.” 

Mags tucks her dagger back against her spine and bends, popping her back loudly as if to agree. They didn’t have a lot of choice in where they slept—he knows this. 

Doesn’t make his spine any less sore. 

“I can heal you—!” Anders chirps and Velanna grimaces. 

Before Nathaniel can even decline, Mags has her hands on either of the mage’s shoulders, pushing them into the tree line. “The healing will come from the Maker-damned springs. I said for everyone to _relax_. That means everyone leave Nate alone, or else you’ll deal with my daggers whether I’m clothed or not.” 

Velanna twists her head to argue, but huffs, leaning forward out of Mags hold to walk ahead on her own volition. A silent ‘thank you’ is nodded from Nathaniel to his commander and earns a rare smile back in return.

There is argument as the three disappear back into the woods, with voices that echo into clips that Nathaniel would rather not decipher. Especially not after he hears the word “spank”, anyways. 

All he wants to do is sink neck deep into the springs and forget the world exists.

An action easier said than done, he realizes, all things considered. He does the best he can, wandering a bit in his own direction until finding a smaller pool sheltered by an overhang of rock. If he’s going to be alone, he’s not going to leave all sides open. 

They’ll have to deal with him head on if they’re coward enough to attack him in the first place. The thought tangles in his head, but is loosened by the steam that floats up into the air. 

_No one is around him. He can relax._ These statements nearly become a chant in Nathaniel’s head as he starts to undress. 

His braids come down much like he thought they would, crackling as the strands part from their light layer of salt from dried sweat. It feels better, but still uncomfortable, up until the moment he dunks his entire body beneath the water. 

He doesn’t dare open his eyes beneath the surface, but he does sit there a moment while holding his breath. The world feels gone here—dulled past all sound or thought—and for the first time in a while he feels his shoulders ease. 

There is only the soft echo of his heartbeat in his ears, drawing slower with each push. 

When he comes back up for air, the sensation seems to follow him. Heat slowly undoes each knot in his back, tugging on the ends with careful fingers. His head falls back against the rock, and staring up to the tree line he feels himself grin as the world fades away.

_No one is around him. He can relax._

“ _You_ wandered far.” 

Nathaniel snaps his head up, hands clambering for a dagger he barely reaches. It doesn’t shake in his hand as he throws it forward, but his hand does when he hears it stop in the unmistakable sound of being caught. 

Before he can reach for his bow, he forces himself to process his attacker. 

They rest—a smirking face now resting like a crown against folded arms—with a single hand gently teetering his dagger back and forth on its hilt. Nathaniel sinks slowly back down into the water, forcing his body to release the fresh tension.

“ _You’re_ not where you’re supposed to be,” Nathaniel accuses back, and the water ripples from his lips. “Could you not have made yourself better known? What happened to ‘ _leave Nate alone_ ’?” 

Mags shakes her head, tsking. “Mm-mm. You know the deal, Howe. I have to keep my rogue on his toes.” 

“‘Your rogue’ is on his last nerve, isn’t that good enough?” Nathaniel groans, narrowing his eyes as his shoulders beg louder to melt into the stone behind him. The low cloud of lingering steam is making it harder still to see, but he manages to maintain focus on her face.

Her hypocritical, smug face. Sometimes he wishes she loathed him like she did that first week. Would likely be easier on him than her supposed friendship. 

“Perhaps,” Mags muses, closing her eyes, “but the bath is helping. The last week hasn’t exactly been the lap of luxury either of us knew for so long, but I heard a local mention these and—” 

“You directed us on purpose? Why not just tell us?” The urge to lean closer rather than to speak six feet apart tugs on Nathaniel's mind, but his distinct lack of clothing leaves him stuck firmly against the wall. “I’ve said it before, and I shall many times: you are a strange woman and I don’t know who let you lead.” 

A hum of a halfhearted laugh blows across her lips, forcing her hair to float up a touch before falling back against her face. 

“Stopping a blight earns you more than just some babies named after you. Also, life is better when you’re surprised—or at least that used to be true prior to this year—” Mags opens her eyes with a grimace that mirrors Nathaniel's, and quickly shimmies back down to the ground. A sharp yelp scatters through the trees, leaving both to turn their expression to that instead. “I should probably get back to the others, lest I want to find Anders frozen solid in a bath. Though that would be pretty funny… Rest up, Nate. I mean it.” 

“At once, commander,” Nathaniel sarcastically mutters with a weak salute, letting his head fall back against the stone before drifting back into nothingness. 


	2. Jar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 2: Jar. Rated G. Nathaniel Howe & Sigrun. Fluff, Humor, Rogue bonding.

Commotion is usually what clues Nathaniel in that everything is fine around the grounds. So, when he’s walking to the kitchen and hears nothing but the wood bending beneath his feet, naturally he worries. 

An instinct that was proven to be correct when he turns a corner into the galley to find Sigrun doubled over. She’s red in the face and clearly not breathing at all, sending Nathaniel straight into panic. 

He remembers how to dislodge something if someone is choking, right? It’s something with the stomach and you hoist up. That should be enough. 

Nathaniel’s hands quickly clasp around the dwarves’ stomach and when he hoists upwards—ears alert for the sound of breath—Sigrun _screams_. Not of pain, mind you, but surprise. Like it makes any difference to Nathaniel who nearly drops her back to the ground at once. 

“What are you _doing_ ?” She accuses, wheezing out the forced breath that just came from her lungs. “Is that how you hug people? Why would _you_ be hugging _me_?” 

Red blooms across Nathaniel’s face at once, words stuttering across his tongue in a broken apology, “I-I, you weren’t breathing, _very red_ , I thought th-that you were choking so—”

“Aw! That’s so sweet of you!” Sigrun snorts, smacking Nathaniel on the waist as her confusion twists into a beaming smile. “I can breathe just fine though, thank you.” 

Nathaniel sighs, rubbing his face roughly against his cheeks to collect himself again. He lets his panic fade, finally taking in the rest of the kitchen. On the ground behind her, Nathaniel spies a jar. It’s larger than a normal, but unlike the other bigger containers they have, it’s solid and unlabeled. 

He’s never seen one like it before, much less this kitchen. 

“What’s that jar?” Nathaniel asks, apparently saying the magic words that make the smile slide off Sigrun’s face. She shifts, trying to hide it behind her legs. “Ah, so that’s what you were doing. You were trying to open it.” 

“It won’t open and I can’t figure out what’s inside! No sloshing, no rattling, no clue to what could be behind this ugly grey exterior.”

The jar sits—menacingly as it were—and Sigrun turns, winding her foot up to kick it. Catching her at the last moment, Nathaniel plants a hand on her shoulder to balance her. A rather unappreciative grumble leaves her lips as she steadies herself with a lowered head.

As she picks it back up, she raises it into the light. But each way she twists, it remains solid. 

The thought of whatever is trapped inside that is likely solid makes Nathaniel’s stomach roll, but his morbid curiosity is slowly getting the best of him. He didn’t have anything else planned today other than grabbing food and reading in his room, so why not?

“Have you tried running it under hot water? Smacking the edge with your dagger?” Nathaniel asks, taking the jar from her to shake it. 

She’s right. It’s solid with no inkling of the contents, but it’s definitely not empty.

“ _No, Messere, I’ve never opened a jar in my life, please teach me you_ —yes! I tried those things! I thought I could just undo the lid, but that sucker is stuck,” Sigrun laughs frustratedly, jumping up to sit on the edge of the counter. Her legs swing, knocking against the cabinet doors as she looks around for another solution. 

Nathaniel grips the lid, twisting it as hard as he can. His hand slides easily against the top, unable to catch any amount of traction. There was no progress made, only marks on his palm that leaves him red and a little sore. 

“Maker, maybe we should just smash it,” Nathaniel mutters, gripping it again before doubling over much like Sigrun was before. A low growl presses between his teeth as it once again fights his palm, leaving him to slam it against the counter. “Maybe it’s not meant to be opened!” 

“Maybe, you’re not the big strong archer you thought you were,” Sigrun sighs, smirking when Nathaniel looks up at her. When he picks it back up again with a curse laden tongue she groans. “No, I didn’t mean keep trying! It’s fine. Our little mystery.” 

Nathaniel shakes his head as much as he can, straining to turn the lid. “ _No. It’s. Happening._ ” 

A soft pop resonates in the space between the rogues, leaving them both to look at each other with wide eyes. Sigrun hops back down at once, nearly giggling as she leans in to see what’s inside. Another firm twist of Nathaniel’s wrist and the lid comes off in his hand, tossed behind him without another thought. 

Peering inside, he holds his breath for fear of what has died within the container but finds nothing organic. It’s full to the top with something white and misshapen. 

“I’m gonna touch it,” Sigrun says and Nathaniel jerks the jar away out of her reach. “What! It’s safe enough.” 

“No, it isn’t. What if it’s some trap? Weren’t you taught any better?” Nathaniel scolds, drawing the jar back to his chest, shaking the contents again. He peers closer, dipping in a finger of his own before groaning. “For the love of Andraste.” 

Sigrun pushes eagerly up on her toes, peering over the edge. “Come _on_ , Howe! What is it!” 

Nathaniel reaches in carefully and tugs a small white piece free. He holds it up into the light to confirm a final time before dropping it into her hand. “Cotton balls.” 

“Cotton balls,” Sigrun echoes dryly. The medical supply rolls around in her hand for a moment before being pressed flat in her fist. “So, we speak of this to no one, right?” 

“It never happened.”


	3. Gentle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 3: Gentle. Nathaniel Howe & Anders. Hair braiding, Fluff, Nathaniel realizing once again his dad sucked.

“Nathaniel,” Anders says, propping his head against the rogue’s shoulder. “Will you braid my hair?” 

Their fifteen minute break from sparring is lulling into an easy thirty. Such is the way of things when Anders is involved.

Still, the request earns an unbelieving huff from Nathaniel’s lips before he turns to look. When he finds Anders, eyes shiny with genuine desire, they press back together tightly. Surely the mage knows how to braid his own hair. After all, he spent years in a not so glorified prison… 

“Why me?” Nathaniel instead says, glancing up out to the courtyard. “Because I’m the only one here? Never mind that your hair is still up.” 

The tie holding the strawberry blond hair back is tugged away at once, tossed to the ground before Nathaniel’s crossed legs. Like a dam released from its wall, Anders’ face is now curtained with that bottled sunshine he keeps tucked away. 

_ He should wear it down more often _ , Nathaniel thinks, trying to hold back a smile. 

“There. Good to go,” Anders reasons, scooting to rest in front of him. Hands scratch through his hair, freeing the sweat clung pieces and after giving it a final shake he tilts his head back. “Can’t a man ask for a little compassion? A little tenderness?” 

“ _ Anders _ .” 

“You do it better than anyone else does! Yours are always so nice and neat against your head. Really lets people know how anal you are before you get the chance to—” 

Nathaniel pushes Anders’ head back up with a shove that is not so much tender as it is vengeful. It seems to quiet the mage for a moment, leaving words to leak out only as mutters while Nathaniel cracks his fingers. Which should he do…?

A single finger brushes against the side of Anders’ head, curling a section of hair to trap it. It makes the man before him sink a little, easing into a more comfortable position for them both. Even then, he can’t quite reach the way he needs to if he’s going to get everything at the front. So, his free hand tugs on Anders’ waist, making a silent demand that is met with acceptance as he scoots closer. 

“I’m the best, hm?” Nathaniel hums, drawing more pieces into his hands. 

Anders replies in the same warm tone, “You’re gentler than Sigrun and Velanna are, and you’ll actually tell me yes unlike Magnolia.” 

Nathaniel snorts at the compliment, but within it lies an easily gifted truth that makes his stomach flip slightly.  _ Gentle _ . That word may as well have been poison against his father’s tongue growing up. 

There was only learning how to fight. How to win. How to succeed. Anything else was a poor standard against a strong name. 

His mother was gentle—

“Hey, I meant it as a compliment,” Anders quips to break the silence, turning his head as far as Nathaniel’s hands will allow him. “I’m sorry if I—” 

“No, no. It’s quite alright,” Nathaniel murmurs, tugging Anders back into place before his hands continue to plait in the once more comfortable silence. 

Gold is spun into a solid shining piece until he runs out of material, and as he reaches for the tie, Nathaniel hesitates. However long he was working was the most he’s felt at peace in a while. Hands sitting in the hair of someone that trusts him. Someone that thinks him gentle. 

Quick hands undo the braid, ruffling the hair back out against Anders’ shoulders. 

“Something get messed up? It felt fine to me,” Anders offers, again shooting a half glance backwards. 

“Wasn’t perfect,” Nathaniel replies, hooking a new first piece of hair back into his fingers. “That’s why you wanted me, right?” 

Recognition seems to flit across the mage’s features, leaving his cheeks to burn from a source other than the sun. It works through him, and a soft smile presses onto Anders’ lips before he turns to face forward once more. 

“Of course. Only the best.” 


	4. Carve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 4: Carve. Rated T. Nathaniel Howe/Anders. Post DAA, past relationship, emotional hurt no comfort.

Summer heat sits heavy on Nathaniel’s neck, trapping humidity beneath his collar. It’s just another touch, another hand, sitting as a reminder that he’s out here alone. The leaves are bright and vibrant green now—a stark contrast from the dulling orange and yellows that they were the last time he saw them. 

Everything changes. Nothing can stay the same. 

No matter how much Nathaniel may wish that it would stay stagnant, he knows that life must continue on. The stream that runs on the edge of the wood instills that reminder further, with soft smacks of a rain filled basin that only a warm season can bring. 

When he finds what he’s seeking, tucked against a bank next to the rock he remembers more than the target itself, Nathaniel hesitates. 

What if it’s gone? Surely, the last six months haven’t taken it away. It should still be here, unlike the one that put it there.

Moving around slowly around the tree, his hand skims the bark gently. Fingertips trace the unique pattern formed by nature itself until he comes across the single discrepancy. Lines that are carved crooked into its features. 

There is a laugh that wants to draw into Nathaniel’s chest at the shakiness in the lettering. Maker knows it shouldn’t have been difficult with no curves involved, but he always did find a way to make things difficult. 

The pad of his index finger traces down the first line of the ‘A’ and a chill runs down his spine. 

It feels like another lifetime entirely since it was placed here. Since he was placed here, held with a bent spine against the tree while Anders’ thigh pressed higher and higher between his legs. The mage’s breath was hot, drawing a cloud to cover their affair in the cold surroundings that would keep their secret. 

His hands were soft and urging, just as a healer’s should be, as they curled at the base of Nathaniel’s neck. All fear slipped from Nathaniel in that moment. He remembers it clearly, as for the first time since he could remember, there wasn’t a single thought in his head. 

No worry to linger on. No questions to ask. 

There was only the two of them, alone in the woods and breathing life into one another like the trees no longer could to the world around them. What a full life it was, wrapped in the arms of a man that deemed him something others often wouldn’t nowadays. 

He wasn’t a Howe to Anders. He was Nathaniel. Nathaniel, that sighed into each of his touches and melted beneath his lust filled gaze. 

And Anders wasn’t just an apostate. He was a nuisance, a curiosity, and a source of joy Nathaniel never could have predicted in his wildest dreams. 

Running his finger against the ‘N’, Nathaniel’s stomach twists. It truly feels like that now. A dream that was set up so perfectly in his mind that he slept for months on end. Only to now wake up into a world where nothing feels right anymore. 

Anders is no longer hanging on his arm and every word. There are no soft chirps of a kitten to make Nathaniel laugh when the road gets too quiet. He is gone, Justice is gone, and there is nothing left behind to prove otherwise to everyone else. 

There are only these letters, drawn crudely with a stolen dagger and cheeky smile from a love that may have been one for a lifetime. 


	5. Bare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 5: Bare. Rated T. Nathaniel Howe & Cousland. Mention of death, set prior to Nathaniel talking to Delilah in Amaranthine, catharsis.

Nathaniel can feel it with each squelch filled step he takes forwards towards the keep. That hot anger that stirs in his chest that likely mirrors the one in front of him. Her hands are clenched, nails digging into the leather of her gloves. 

Why the commander even brought him out here is beyond him. 

When they reach the wall, she waves the others ahead but holds an arm out before Nathaniel. “No,” she says, “you stay.” 

Anders and Oghren both hover a few steps away, but Oghren tugs on the mage’s arm. He mutters something that doesn’t carry through the rain that’s started up again, but Nathaniel doesn’t need to hear it. He can tell in the dwarves’ eyes that he knows what’s about to happen. Maker, he’s likely been privy to it himself. 

She’s going to yell. 

“Out with it then so that we can get inside,” Nathaniel says, crossing his arms into his only defense. “What did I do that displeased your majesty?” 

Cousland’s head whips around, eyes narrowed. “Just because I am queen does not lessen my other authority, understood?” 

Nathaniel tsks, shooting a glance out to the courtyard. To see it swarming with wardens, regardless if he himself is one now, it still feels wrong. This was  _ theirs _ . 

“I understand perfectly. Your embroidered handkerchief is still blood soaked whether you have the title or not. Again, I ask, what do you want?” 

She rights herself to fully face him, fist again clenching tight enough to make the leather groan. It quivers, softly at first, but then her entire arm starts to shake. 

“I see him in you, do you realize that? You have to,” She says, voice tight as if to hold back tears. “Your eyes have that same analytical gaze to them. The very ones that sized me up the night before my family was taken from beneath me. I look at you and I can hear my father wheezing out his last breath.” 

Nathaniel clenches his jaw, swallowing the attack whole. 

“And you? You don’t  _ look _ like the person that killed my father. You  _ are _ . How do you think I feel following you around? You think it’s fun?” Nathaniel spits, taking a brave step forward. His fingers dig into his biceps, centering himself. “Why didn’t you just let me leave?” 

“Why would I?” She fires back with a matching step. “You could return in the night and kill me just like your coward father did to—” 

“Keep him out of your mouth!” Nathaniel interrupts with a yell that surprises even him when it fades into the space between him. “I apologized! There is nothing I can do. I cannot bring your family back and you cannot bring back mine. We have—” 

“We have  _ nothing _ !” Cousland grits out, pushing a single finger into his chest. “I lost my nephew, Nathaniel. Do you know that? That your father had a  _ child _ killed?” 

Nathaniel blinks, mouth agape at loss of words. Not that the other reports weren’t ghastly, but he didn’t know that. He didn’t realize—

“I—” 

“ _ You _ ! He’ll never grow up now! My brother had a wife and a child and now he has nothing!” Cousland continues to grow louder, with her tears starting to win over in every sobbed word. “ _ Give them back _ !” 

“ _ I can’t! _ ” Nathaniel drops his arms in exasperation. His heart is beating hard against his ribs, desperate to break out of his chest and to the ground before them. 

Why is he here? Why is he even alive?

Cousland’s hands grab onto either of his arms, curling into the fabric. She doesn’t shake him or pull, she simply stands quivering with her head hung against her chest. A full head shorter than him, she barely meets his shoulders and the thought of Delilah pulls to his mind. 

She’s a lot like her. Younger. Stubborn. Strong. In another world, maybe they could’ve been friends. 

The thought nearly feels impossible now. 

“If you want me to go I will,” Nathaniel breathes out as he looks up at the keep. “I’ll leave and never return. I know my word is nothing to you, but it’s all I have.” 

Dark hair shakes beneath him, covering up a gasping Cousland. When she looks back up, eyes red with tears and lips bitten to hold back hiccuping sobs that jerk her chest, she shakes her head again. 

“No. You’ll stay. You’ll stay and you’ll make this world better,” She says almost more to herself than to him. “When another child is born into this world I don’t want them to once think of a fucking blight. Understood?” 

“I understand,” Nathaniel murmurs.

He hesitates for a second, but then curls her into his chest. The moment she presses fully into his armor, the last of their defenses fall. Alone, they stand tear stained and bare in a world that they never wished to be in. One that they’ll try to make better together. 


	6. Buzz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 6: Buzz. Nathaniel Howe/Anders. Rated T. Drinking, mention of (non explicit) previous sexual encounters, warden bonding

When the beer—served with larger fanfare than he’s ever seen it presented—pours down Nathaniel’s throat, he realizes this is just what he’s needed. The week was long and arduous in more ways than one, and to toast to their lives seems not only appropriate but encouraging. 

“To other missions in which I  _ don’t _ get my robes caught in a rock and you all nearly leave me to die!” Anders cheers, shooting a look down the table to Velanna that huffs. “I’m teasing. You would’ve come back for my body eventually. Especially since I have such nice things that would go to waste lying in the bottom of the deep roads for all eternity.” 

“Some ogre could have commandeered them. Made a cute hat from your pauldrons or pierced their ear,” Velanna replies back, unusually warm in tone. Her glass is already half gone and Nathaniel takes another swig to catch up. 

Anders does the same, smacking his lips as the glass does the same against the table between them. His eyes are shiny with intoxication and life, along with a matching glisten on his lips. 

_ Would they be soft? _ Nathaniel shakes the thought out of his head and takes another drink. 

“Not the worst place to be caught I suppose,” Anders offers, propping his head against his hand on the table. “I was snagged during an escape attempt years ago for something similar. Robes got caught after a quick alleyway tryst and the local enforcements nabbed me.” 

Nathaniel’s brows shoot up in surprise. He knows Anders is flirty, unbelievably so to the point that it makes his chest burn, but he never took him for an alleyway type. Much too concerned with things around him to ever really enjoy something in the moment like that. 

Or so he thought. 

“So? Was it worth it? I can’t imagine a Ferelden village leaves many places to hide to begin with so she must have been a force to reckon with.” Oghren asks all the questions that sat wavering in Nathaniel’s head. 

Ones he would have needed another beer to speak, surely. 

Anders shakes his head with a laugh. “It wasn’t in Ferelden. It was the single time I managed to make it to the Free Marches. It also wasn’t with a woman. But for the other part… yes, I think he was worth it.” 

A feeling of jealousy mixed with pure unfiltered shock clenches Nathaniel’s stomach. Anders has been to the Free Marches? Anders has been with men? Anders has—

“You ok there, Howe? Take it easy,” Anders chides, reaching across the table trying to bring the rogue’s hand back down from where his mug is now upturned entirely on his lips. “This can’t come as a surprise to you.” 

Nathaniel smacks his lips, head swimming with much more than alcohol. How similar they are has once again come into question. When he was still squiring, they visited Markham for a few days to pick up specific supplies. He was just another twenty-something year old then. 

No name attached to a face in this land across the sea. So, he drank the local recommendation and sampled things to eat as well. 

His dinner was the neck of another man that he had met only an hour before. Words sweet and eyes hungry, they sat with narrowing space next to each other at the bar until they couldn’t take it anymore. All that could be offered as sacrifice to their urges and swimming minds were kisses taken in the dark. 

Hands dug into tattered robes and loose leather with an abandon Nathaniel had never felt. He’s never felt it since then, actually. 

“You never told me you made it to the Free Marches,” Nathaniel says, words slurring more than he would like. He swallows, righting himself best he can before continuing, “What city?” 

“Markham,” Anders supplies, waving a hand to Sigrun to bring him a refill, “It was probably my favorite escape attempt after this one of course. Gorgeous and huge—I mean, the city was pretty nice too.” 

Oghren barks out a laugh and the needles dig themselves deeper under Nathaniel’s skin. It’s fine. He’s not even  _ interested _ in Anders like that. Certainly not after everything the mage says to him on a daily basis. 

Teases that make his neck red and his arm shake are poor living conditions for a rogue. 

“I assume you’ve been there as well, seeing as that’s where you just came from? Any fun stories in Markham yourself?” 

Nathaniel tries to say, “Yes, but nothing of consequence happened.” 

This is not what comes out of his mouth. Instead, he inhales, drawing a quick line across his bottom lip and swears to Andraste he can taste the other man just as clear as he could that night. It’s all it takes for him to break. 

“A similar story, I suppose. Young and drunk off wine and too much freedom, I also had myself an alleyway… tryst, as you put it,” Nathaniel says and wants to swallow his words as they’re said. His hand tightens on the mug in front of him as it once again fills with honey mead. “He was a nice distraction from everything, at least for a night. Though I recall a barrel that didn’t make it out quite as well as we fared.” 

The swallow Anders takes is audible and Nathaniel lets his wandering eyes settle back across the table. There is a shake in the usual ease that Anders has on him. Perhaps he needs some water?

“Met him in a bar, did you? Bite his neck until he moaned?” 

Anders asks questions, but he isn’t looking for answers. He only grows louder as he stands, leaning across the table with two firm hands pressed into the wood. His breath is sweet when it wafts across Nathaniel’s face, and he doesn’t dare move. 

“He kicked out a foot trying to pull you further to the ground and the barrel broke? It stopped you both to realize maybe you were too drunk for this? So, you left, and he tried to, but got stuck on splintered wood and was taken back across the ocean to the circle?” 

Anders’ cheeks are red, pupils blown with intoxication and adrenaline, and the table creaks with his weight. Replaying the questions back again, Nathaniel’s heart might as well stop beating for the speed in which it is pushing against his ribs.  _ No. There is absolutely, no way. _

Oghren’s laugh breaks the heavy silence into painful shards before calling out back towards the kitchen, “Andraste’s tits! Commander get your ass in here! Howe and Anders fucked in an alley!” 


	7. Tremble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 7:Tremble Nathaniel & Delilah & Thomas Howe. Rated G. Fluff, comfort, Nathaniel being a good older brother.

Rain beats in heavy sheets against the window, clattering the shudders into an uneven rhythm. The storm doesn’t scare Nathaniel. It’s just annoying when all he wants is sleep and he can’t seem to slip away before another jolt of wind. 

The cabin is less than ideal to their usual housing arrangements, but there is little to account for when traveling from Amaranthine to Denerim at such short notice. 

His only true worry is that the roads will be riddled with puddles and dips, making an already frustrating trip worse. 

A different knock than the wind registers in Nathaniel’s ear; faint and hesitant against the doorway frame. 

“Nathaniel?” Delilah whispers, flinching as the shudders slam again. 

Running across the space between the door and his bed, Delilah leaps onto the covers. She steadies herself with a single rock towards the middle and the wood of the bed groans at the shift against the floor. Without another word or question, she huddles beneath the blanket’s edge, tucking against Nathaniel’s side. 

“Delilah, you aren’t supposed to sleep in here,” Nathaniel whispers, but makes no effort to push his sister away. “Mother said you have to learn to sleep alone.” 

The wind howls louder, scraping the branches down and against the window. Nearly like nails on a chalkboard, it draws the hair up on his arm and feels the same raise on Delilah’s skin. She trembles, lacing her legs with his, taking the rest of the space between them away. 

“I know, but,” Delilah starts to argue, but settles when Nathaniel’s arm wraps around her shoulder, “thank you.” 

Nathaniel simply hums, closing his eyes again. Maybe now they can both get some rest. They’re supposed to continue their travel tomorrow and Father is short when Delilah whines. 

No more than ten minutes pass and a soft shuffling sends his eyes open once more. Just a moment before a matching set of arms cling to his other side. Thomas buries his head against Nathaniel’s shoulder, nose pressed like a threat. 

“Thomas,” Nathaniel murmurs, but relents with sleep pulling at him like a third person, and tucks his other arm around him. 

“It’s too loud and Delilah was gone, and—” Thomas starts to explain, half muffled into fabric and skin. “Just for a little while?

Nathaniel sighs, curling both of his siblings closer into his shoulders before closing his eyes again. “Just for a little while.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a wee bit late as I was travelling for most of yesterday and didn't have the mental capacity to post. It's also why it's so short but, c'est la vie.


	8. Harbor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 8: Harbor. Rated G. Nathaniel Howe/F!Cousland. Fluff, Getting together, Pining.

“It’s obvious, ya know.” 

Nathaniel looks down to Oghren, sizing up the dwarven warrior before replying, “Are you speaking to me?” 

A low huff of a laugh rolls from the man’s belly and he shoots a look up at Nathaniel. His eyebrows wiggle in a way that is less than comforting, and still offer him no answer to his question. 

“ _Are you hitting on me_?” Nathaniel whispers, not out of shame but, more for the sake of the one person he wishes wouldn’t hear this. One that is only a few strides ahead. “Oghren—just, speak.” 

Oghren shifts the hammer on his back with a single roll of his shoulder, spitting away to the side. He seems half irritated, half amused, and it’s leaving Nathaniel wholly out to dry. Why can no one in this entire group just say what they mean from the get go?

The dwarf slows, tilting his head backwards to urge them both to slow down towards the back of the group. 

“I see the way you look at ‘er,” Oghren offers once they’ve created a larger gap from the front of the party. “It’s obvious.” 

Nathaniel feels red creep up past his collar and does his best to try and swallow down the waver he knows is threatening his voice. Maker, it can’t be that obvious that Oghren has noticed it, right? 

He’d rather fling himself off the cliffs edge than accept that. The only one worse would be Justice. Maybe he’s glad it’s Oghren after all. 

“I—” Nathaniel starts, but realizes he has no idea what to say to that. “How obvious?” 

Oghren laughs again, quieter than normal. “You stare at her with stars in your eyes. She killed yer father, I don’t think other people would look on with so much admiration for someone like that. I know you both worked through it—loud enough to wake the Stone—but it’s still out of the ordinary enough. Or maybe I’m just that much of a _romantic_.” 

An unamused frown is thrown towards him before Nathaniel looks ahead again. He’s probably right. No normal person would be so close to someone that killed their family. Yet, she has gotten close to him in turn. The affection, the kindness, it is far from one sided. 

That must mean something. 

“We’ve already worked through most of that. I don’t think either of us have even mentioned it in a month at least,” Nathaniel says, mind reeling from the time that’s actually passed. Has he truly been here half a year? “Regardless, I suppose you have some _unsolicited_ advice for me?” 

A click of Oghren’s tongue confirms Nathaniel’s question. “I’ve been married twice, Natey boy. That doesn’t happen by chance.” 

“Well, I suppose you’re right,” Nathaniel laughs, scratching at his fading neck. 

He sends another glance up to the front and feels it flare up all over again. How on Earth is supposed to do this? Can he even do this?

What if she doesn’t return the same feelings? He would rather run off back into those blighted mines than impose himself on a woman that has done more in the last year than he’s done in his life. The last thing she needs is misplaced affection and the burden of not being able to reciprocate it. 

“Listen. It’s not easy to harbor feelings. Not when yer boat is unfit and slamming up against a dock that only wants to destroy it to tiny pieces. The storm between ya is settled, so you’ve got to let it out to sea eventually. Whether the waves swallow it up or ya end up on the other side is unknown, but you’ve got to try.” 

Nathaniel blinks, taking in the metaphor. “Oghren that was terrifyingly insightful, even coming from you.” 

“I’ve been known to surprise people,” Oghren sighs, patting a hearty hand against Nathaniel’s lower back. It pushes the rogue forward a step, making him stutter his feet. “Go on! Go talk to ‘er about whatever it is ya rogues do with those bows and blades.” 

A soft smile is given in thanks as Nathaniel walks forward, and as he settles next to Cousland he feels the same heat draw across his neck again. The weather before them is clear and has no threat of rain hanging in the distance. Hopefully it fairs the same for their relationship.

Her shoulder nudges against his, drawing his attention down to her face that is warm with a genuine smile. 

“Enjoy your talk with Oghren?” She asks, throwing a glance over her shoulder. “Did he tell you about nug wrestling again?” 

Nathaniel laughs, shaking his head. “No, actually. He just wanted to lend me a piece of advice.” 

Cousland’s eyebrows raise in surprise, but lower a moment later with an eased expression. Her nose wrinkles, holding back a laugh, and she shakes her head. 

“I told you there was a reason he was my friend,” She offers, reaching up to tuck a stray hair back into place against Nathaniel’s head. “What was the advice?” 

“Believe it or not—boats,” Nathaniel grins, leaning into her touch for a second before meeting her confused gaze.

With careful fingers, he reaches up to undo the rope that holds him against the dock, and nudges her hand within his own to cast himself out to sea. 


	9. Keep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 9: Keep. Nathaniel Howe & Hawke. Rated G. Mention of sibling death.

Fire crackles, jumping from the weak flame that continues to be nurtured a few minutes at a time by Hawke’s hand. The wind keeps trying to snuff it out each time another gust pushes its way through the valley and into the caves. Just another aspect of the deep roads that Hawke is coming to loathe. He can’t blame the Warden’s at all for snapping about it all the time anymore. 

When it draws to a comfortable height, he once again stands to get a read on everyone else. 

Varric is polishing Bianca, propped up against the makeshift seats they’ve acquired in the form of stones, and smiles when Hawke catches his eye. He nods to the left, cluing Hawke into a place out of his vision and he cranes his neck to find Fenris leaned in a cutout in the rocks, hands tucked into his arms. These two seem usual enough for Hawke, especially given their task for the morning. 

Journeying deeper in the morning, likely past another solid hoard of darkspawn, has them all on edge. 

Hawke scans the rest of the campsite and finds Anders just where he thought he would. The mage sits with his knees tucked against his chest, head resting atop it with a gaze transfixed on their guest. Nathaniel Howe, a man of Ferelden nobility, and apparently old friend of Anders’ from the wardens. 

He seems kind, if not still straightforward in each word he says, and has a drive that reminds Hawke of someone else. 

Someone that is no longer here.

Caught staring, Nathaniel glances to the side and meets Hawke’s gaze. With a single jerk of his head, he motions towards the cove’s mouth and bids Anders’ a silent goodbye. 

“Anders isn’t lecturing you on anything, is he?” Hawke asks with a tsk as Nathaniel approaches him, throwing a look back at the mage to earn a wrinkled nose in argument. “You used to know each other though, so I’m sure you’re well used to it.”

Nathaniel hums nostalgically, lips quirking into a smile. “Something like that.” 

When they settle next to the fire Hawke pulls against his fingers, anxiously popping the knuckles one at a time. What could a grey warden have to talk to him about? 

“Anders tells me you are also an eldest sibling,” Nathaniel starts and Hawke’s stomach drops with dread. “As am I.” 

Hawke swallows his next word, trying to situate his mind into a state where he can speak. The thoughts tangle like cheap yarn pulled into uneven knots and he can’t seem to get them free by the time Nathaniel sets a single hand on his knee. There is understanding in the rogue’s eyes and it makes the pit deeper in Hawke’s stomach. 

“Oldest of three is an interesting place to be, mind you, but I’m not sure if I would’ve preferred my youngers to be twins or not,” Nathaniel muses softly, pressing a hard thumb into the leather of his glove. “There are only two of you left.” 

It isn’t a question. It is a statement. A statement that has echoed in Hawke’s mind for years, touching his chest at least once a day to draw a small needle of pain into him. 

“Yes. Bethany didn’t make it to Kirkwall, and with Carver in the Templars it often feels like I’ve lost him too,” Hawke says, eyes fixed on the fire before them. “I wonder if he would’ve reconsidered if she were here too. Maybe two mages around him would’ve been enough to keep him from that path. Losing his half changed him more than I will ever know.” 

The words Hawke has not once spoken to others pour from his mouth out onto the ground. These worries and fears he’s had, tucked away like a terrible secret from everyone, now sit plainly for a man he met just a few hours prior. Perhaps this is why he and Anders get along so well. Both men have a knack of rooting through Hawke’s mind and drawing upon the very thing he needs to reveal. 

Nathaniel nods, clasping his hands and resting his elbows on his knees. His gaze is steadily ahead into the fire for a silent moment before he sighs. 

“I lost my youngest sibling as well. Thomas died in the battle and I was certain once I returned to Ferelden that Delilah would also be gone. Though I missed such a large piece of their lives, I never considered how much it would haunt me. I was certain I had time to make it up once I came back to visit.” 

“Every moment past the age of five is a race against them, I swear,” Hawke replies, but the usual tone to his light remarks is void of anything but an all too real dread. 

“Isn’t that the truth? Delilah was pregnant when I met her again. Luckily, I was around to see my nephew born, but in all honesty I don’t think I could live with missing anything else,” Nathaniel sighs, pressing his thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose. “I went back to the keep for revenge, but we all see how that turned out. In the end, I realized I just needed something to hold onto and hatred wasn’t the answer.” 

Hawke lifts his head, sending a speculative look as the rogue starts to dig into his pocket. From it comes a small piece of carved wood, shaped into a horse. He holds it up into the light for a second, smiling at the detail before holding it out to Hawke. When he turns it over in his hand, Hawke spies the thing that made him smile: the word Thomas scratched into the wood with shaky lettering and a small star. 

“His, was it?” Hawke asks, placing the keepsake back into Nathaniel’s hand.

“He was always quite wild, like a stallion that didn’t want to be saddled with the dread and responsibilities that father tried to put on him. Still, he did as he was supposed to and went to war like the good soldier he was. I’m proud of him… but I cannot say there are times I’m not furious at the thought,” Nathaniel says, lowering his head while dragging a single hand through his hair. 

The fire crackles into the heavy silence for a moment, and Hawke can hear the weight of Nathaniel’s breath as he breathes. 

Swallowing the dread he has, Hawke pushes into his pocket and pulls out the piece that sits there daily. When Nathaniel looks back up at him, Hawke holds it out to place in his palm.

“A ring of hers. Bethany never wore much jewelry, but when we were forced to run, she tossed it all on in an attempt to carry it with her. Never vain for someone that could have been,” Hawke sighs, letting himself picture her fully for the first time in a while. 

Nathaniel turns the small ring into the light, letting it catch against the small green stone laid into the gold. He smiles, wistful, and places the ring against the horse within his hands. With closed eyes, he murmurs to himself. While most of the words are swallowed up in the ambient noise surrounding them, the words Hawke does catch are familiar. 

An old Andrastian prayer about finding peace. Mother would soothe them with it on nights they couldn’t rest, but Bethany always held it closer then he or Carver did. A pity, Hawke realizes, that she isn’t here to meet Nathaniel now. 

“I’m sure she was gorgeous,” Nathaniel offers softly as he hands it back before tucking his own piece back into his pocket. “Also kind, given the way you seem to be yourself. My heart goes out to you, champion.” 

“And mine to you, Warden,” Hawke replies, eyes still set on the stone in his hands. “We have to do better for them. It’s all we can do.” 

“We will,” Nathaniel smiles, stealing a glance up to the ceiling, almost as if he can see through the stone. Hawke looks up along with him and the weight of the world eases, if only for a second.

“We will.” 


	10. Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 10: Dark. Nathaniel Howe & Anders. Rated G. Emotional vunerability

“It’s hopeless!” Anders yells, voice echoing around the darkness before returning to them. “I told him not to do that! Samuel is just so blighted reckless, sometimes I wonder how he’s lived this long.” 

Nathaniel doesn’t respond to the mages’ irritation, only runs another hand against the wall of rock before them. The cave in was quick after Samuel’s shield slammed into the wall trying to cut off an oncoming hoard of genlock. Unfortunately, he didn’t hear the call of opposition from his two ranged fighters. 

The very ones now trapped on the opposite side of his brilliant plan.

“Stop yelling at the Commander, Anders. At least for now,” Nathaniel says, taking a step back before rubbing his forehead. There has to be a way out. The tunnels beneath the keep are extensive, so there has to be a linking path around here somewhere. “Can you produce any light?” 

Anders makes a soft huff of irritation, muttering under his breath. A hand curls into Nathaniel’s shoulder only a moment before a soft glow fills the space before him. From Anders’ hand emits a small spell wisp, green and iridescent as it floats above his palm. It paints his face, still tugged into a harsh frown, but it softens when he finds Nathaniel’s eyes. 

“I can’t keep this up for long. I can do it a few times, but I’ll need to rest in between since it draws my focus.” 

“Then we better get moving, hm?” Nathaniel offers, starting to pull them forward. 

Anders quietly agrees with a squeeze of his hand, allowing Nathaniel to lead. The path is dark and wet with soft drops of water pushing through the stone, bringing an eerie weight of humidity to the men’s skin. It feels unlike anywhere they’ve been before, here beneath their temporary home. 

“What if we can’t get out? What if I escaped only to be trapped in death?” Anders murmurs. His voice is weak with genuine fear and it draws Nathaniel to look at him. The wisp within his hand flickers, fading back into the dark. “Sorry. All out of my lighthearted banter.” 

“You don’t have to keep it up otherwise, you know,” Nathaniel replies, pushing a hand against the wall before turning back to the tunnel ahead of them. 

“But I do. If I said what I actually feel, you all would toss me into the lake in a minute. My humor kept me safe in the circle, kept the First Enchanter from letting them make my life worse, and now it keeps me free.” 

The words wash over Nathaniel like a brisk chill. He knew things were bad for the mage, but the way he’s speaking now is night and day to who he’s known before now. To say he’s been privileged in his life is a given, but it never really registered to him before he went to the Free Marches. Even farther, then, when he joined the wardens. 

Kept in the dark so long, only to now see the light of the world that still bleeds grey. 

They walk in the dark silence for a few minutes, clung tight against each other’s side with careful feet that sweep forward for pits and left over traps. Anders digs his nails into Nathaniel’s arm a little tighter and the soft shake of his hand scatters against the wall. Light grows once again between them and a weak hum comes from Anders’ throat. 

“I’m so tired, Nate,” Anders sighs, leaning harder into him. 

He knows. Nathaniel feels the same with the prior battle wearing on his bones as well. They’ll need to find their way out soon or it’ll only get exponentially worse. The packs that hang against their backs only have limited resources, and even stretching them that might not be enough. 

The wisp flickers out another time and Anders groans, slowing his steps to lean against the wall. Nathaniel wants to motivate him, but how can you tell a man to keep burning his candle until there is nothing left? 

How can you even think to use Anders after the world has already cut his wick?

Soft splashing of the water under their feet clues Nathaniel in to Anders jumping in place. He’s hyping himself up, building his own fire. Anders rolls his shoulders, patting Nathaniel’s once. 

“Ok, last time.” 

He pushes the light further, gritting his teeth against a groan. The faint glow washes the tunnel forward touching the outer edges. It highlights a dip in the stone and both men look at each other with weak smiles of hope. Turning into it, natural light filters just barely against the edge of the corridor. It glows yellow, clear from the surface above, and Nathaniel feels himself move faster.

Pushing towards their escape, Anders’ hold on Nathaniel’s arm slips down to his hand, and he extinguishes his flame. 


	11. Fluffy Socks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 11: Fluffy Socks. Rated G. Nathaniel Howe & The entire DA2 crew. Modern AU, Christmas Presents, the gang tortures Nathaniel with love.

“Alright, everyone! Time for presents,” Merrill says, clapping her hands together excitedly against her lips. 

Hawke drops the last of the shiny boxes in front of the tree, rolling his shoulders with a yawn. She woke them all up thirty minutes ago and the sun hasn’t even come up. Not that Nathaniel doesn’t already get up early, but being around others that aren’t used to it and grumbling with every step isn’t exactly his forte. 

A cup of coffee is handed to him by Isabela and he nods in thanks before taking a sip. Warm. Bitter. 

“Ok, so how should we do this? I’ve never done Christmas with this many people,” Merrill mumbles, scanning all the presents that are pouring out from under the tree. “Do we just divide it up and then go a person at a time or—” 

A loud rip cuts her off and the room turns to the source, finding Carver frozen. Hawke snorts, pushing against his brother’s head before hovering over the rest of the presents. He pats Merrill’s shoulder, waving a hand back at Carver to continue. 

“We always just went for it. Probably figured that would be the best.” 

Nathaniel sits, watching bags and boxes being tossed around the room, pulled into small piles in front of everyone. Each one that settles in front of him, he eyes with speculation. They all seem fairly small and he wonders if everyone actually paid attention to his list and got him things with practicality attached to them. 

When Bethany places her present in front of him, he looks at her with a smile, but when she winks a frown tugs on his lips. 

“What did you do Bethany?” Nathaniel asks, leaning down to grab the shiny gold bag. He shakes it once, but it makes no noise. “It was off my list, right?” 

Bethany shrugs, settling back into the chair next to him. “I’m hurt that you think I need a list to buy you something Nathaniel. I know you well enough.” 

The room quiets down from their own gifts, clearly invested in the development, and packages are traded with quick hands. Nathaniel pulls at the tape holding the bag closed and finds it stuffed to the top with white tissue paper. He reaches a speculative hand down into it, keeping a steady speculative look at her, and when his fingers touch the contents his brows raise. 

It’s… soft. Incredibly soft and malleable within his fingers. Did she get him gloves? No, they’re far too thin pressed between his thumb and forefinger for that. 

“Take it out, Howe!” Anders urges, earning a soft smack on the back from Varric. “He takes forever, you all just don’t realize that.” 

Nathaniel pulls the present from the bag, narrowing his eyes at the bright blue color. He turns it over and a piece falls from his hand into his lap. It’s a sock. She got him socks. 

“You got me socks.” 

“Fluffy ones,” Bethany corrects, smiling. 

“Why would you buy me fluffy socks? Do I look like the kind of person that wears fluffy socks?” Nathaniel pairs them back together, tucking them back into the bag. 

“Stop saying  _ ‘fluffy socks _ ’ like its poison. Maybe she just thought that you could use a little comfort for once. Get that stick out of your ass and relax for a day in your life,” Isabela offers, leaning on Nathaniel’s shoulder, plucking the socks back out. “Put them on!” 

“No, I’m—” 

The room erupts with argument, demanding Nathaniel put them on at once. He grimaces, but kicks off his slippers and pulls his solid black socks off. They’re folded neatly next to him and Carver groans. 

“They aren’t going to bite you. Just put the blighted socks on,” Carver huffs, pressing his chin into his propped arm. “It’s gonna be dark again before we finish opening things otherwise.” 

“Told you,” Anders quips around his mug, grinning when Hawke kisses his cheek.

Like butter, the socks slide onto Nathaniel’s feet with ease. Looking down at the ground, he can scarcely believe that they’re on his feet and wiggles his toes for confirmation. They’re ostentatious, far more so than anything else he owns, but he can’t say they aren’t comfortable. Very comfortable. 

“So?” Bethany hums with eager eyes, leaning forward to look.

Nathaniel slides his feet back into his slippers again, shifting them into place. They don’t slide around within the shoe like he thought they would. For once, he’s glad to be proven wrong. 

“Yes, they’re very comfortable. Thank you, Bethany,” Nathaniel sighs, but coaxes her closer with a single hand and places a kiss on her forehead, making her laugh. “Now—if anyone  _ else _ got something that wasn’t on my list, speak now.” The room falls silent, everyone looking at each other with a cautious eye before a throat is cleared awkwardly by Hawke. “None of you used my list, did you?” 

Another beat passes in silence. 

“It was boring! None of it was fun,” Merrill argues, tucking her legs into her chest. 

“Yeah, why would I get you a tie clip when I could buy you something you’d never get for yourself?” Anders offers and the rest of the room nods in agreement. 

“Do I even want to know what you think I would never buy for myself?” Nathaniel asks, eyeing the bag from Anders at his feet. “If you got me jewelry again, I’m going to stop talking to you.” 

“How is it my fault that you look good with jewelry on?” Anders shoots a look to Hawke who shrugs. “He does! Look at him! Could probably pull an earring off too. Or a necklace.” 

“Oh! A necklace,” Isabela purrs, resting her head on Nathaniel’s shoulder, drawing a line around his neck. “I’ll keep that in mind for your birthday.” 

Nathaniel presses his hands into his eyes and gives a weak laugh. His back is scratched roughly by Isabela’s nails and he eases into the knot of anxiety that sits in the uncertainty of each box before him. Pulling Anders’ gift into his lap, he starts to tug the paper off and drops his head to his chest when gold script writing of a local jeweler is revealed beneath. 

He sighs, shaking his head as he places the solid gold ring on his hand. “Merry Christmas, Anders. Now, never speak to me again.” 


	12. Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 12: Morning. Nathaniel Howe & Female Cousland. Fluff, Banter, she’s basically his little sister.

Each morning, Nathaniel starts his day the exact same way he has for the last ten years of his life. It is a schedule that was first born of necessity and distraction, but molded into a comfort he required in order to move forward. A hard reset of the day before, given in this act of familiarity and posture alongside the sun. 

It always rises and so shall he. 

He lifts from his bed, stretching his legs before even touching the ground, dropping them after reaching forward. The floor of the keep is much colder against his feet than the wood of his previous home, but cleaner than the dirt of a forest floor. It brings an alertness to him that he hasn’t found before and so along with everything else here, he welcomes it. 

Clothes are folded and placed—ready for wear after training later on—alongside his dagger and bow. His curtains are pulled back, tucked against the corners to allow light to swallow the room, and he pushes the window open just so to allow a breeze. 

Dew smells different here, Nathaniel thinks, but not in a bad way. In a familiar way. A haunting way, that lingers on his skin like memories of old. Perhaps new ones with bleed along with it as the days pass. Or so he hopes. 

Shaking out his hair and thoughts, he draws all of it back into a single ponytail, pulled tight against his head. He bends down, fingers reaching for his toes, and he forces his arms to extend until his knuckles rest against the ground. 

It pulls his back, releasing another piece that will draw him awake and ready for the day. 

“Maker’s breath, you’re flexible.” 

Nathaniel doesn’t jerk up like he once might have weeks ago. Instead, he simply looks over to his unwelcome guest that is propped against his open door frame.

A door, he mentally notes, that was closed for this reason. 

“Are you ogling me, Magnolia?” Nathaniel asks, dropping his head back to his chest to stretch his neck. 

Running through the rest of his list, the idea of Magnolia’s idle conversation bristles him. He still has to finish his stretches before he takes his bath, and can’t let his schedule slip through his fingers just because of a nosy warden. 

“I do not think your husband would take kind to this.” 

Magnolia snorts, letting her head fall against the door with a thud. “So? What if I was? Alistair trusts me just fine, but that’s not the real issue. Tell me Nathaniel, do you do this every morning?” 

Nathaniel shifts, raising back up to stand and pulls his arm across his chest. The muscle loosens, just as it does each day, ready to work against his bow once more. Pushing his other arm back, he rests his hand against his spine, sighing as it pops. 

“Routine is important. I would think one such as yourself would agree, given your raising,” Nathaniel counters and Magnolia hums a resigned agreement. “Now, if you could leave me to the rest of it… _alone_.” 

She rolls her eyes, waving a hand in departure as she slips away from the door, but pops back no more than a second later with a soft grin. “Oh, by the way—good morning, Nate.” 

He drops his head in answer, with a laugh threatening in his chest. Never has he been interrupted and felt so amused. Now that she knows he does this, perhaps he will have to add the visit into his schedule. 

“Good morning, Mags.” 


	13. Faint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 13: Faint. Rated T. Mention of violence.

Warm water washes up and over Nathaniel’s shoulder before returning to the tub. It drags suds along with dirt, cleaning his skin back to its natural state. What water and soap cannot take from it, he traces. 

A solid, thin line that has nearly faded to match his skin tone again, sits against the curve of his knee. He fell when he was eleven and got that one. Chasing Delilah around the stables wasn’t the smartest idea, but he was given a reminder not to do it again. Blood that wept from the cut through his pants should have been what brought him fear. Instead, all he could think about was what his father would say. 

Another handful of water falls on his body and this time his fingers find the bumpy line of peach kissed scarring against his right shoulder. Stabbed, of all things, from behind when he was squiring in the Free Marches. Made him mad more than anything, truly. Lingering on it now, he almost laughs at the prophecy held in the action. 

How many times would he feel a knife in his back after startling awake from a nightmare after it? He's lost count.

Running a finger from it, almost as if he were tracing stars in the sky, he finds its twin against his side. A different attack from a different time, but it was still a surprise and he was still angry. This one has started to fade more as of late, yet the memory stays clear. Pain that felt hot and a gasp of air that he was certain would be his last shook his body. The attacker hesitated, left the dagger in his side, and stumbled backwards before sprinting away. 

That was the last scar that came from surprise for Nathaniel. 

The rest, scattered against his arms and hands, have come from acts of his own doing. He almost looks like a well worn map as of late, with paths charted across them anywhere you look—and others do look. 

He sees the curiosity that tangles in Anders’ mind each time they change next to one another. The mage has scars of his own—webbing lines that pull down his back in a way that Nathaniel knows he does not want their story—but they’re all nearly white. Age has pulled his pain to a faint reminder on his skin, but Nathaniel has a feeling it is quite the opposite with his memory. 

With Justice, he doesn’t seem to understand them much, but studies the ones left on Kristoff’s body the best he can. That thought alone makes Nathaniel a little ill. What stories would a spirit concoct for him should they take his body after death?

Unlike either of them, the commander is cautious in her gaze. Worry sits in it, skimming the surface just enough that Nathaniel knows that if he were to look deeper he would find something he wouldn’t like. She has her own, he’s certain, marked with stories still untold to the rest of them. There is hope to be held that one day he will hear them in a better time. 

One that comes soon, he hopes, sinking back into the tub until the water meets his nose until all his scars are covered. 


	14. Patience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 14: Patience. Rated G. Nathaniel Howe & Female Cousland. Fluff. Teaching moments.

“Too early.” 

Magnolia shoots a look to the side, pursing her lips as she pulls another arrow from the quiver. Nocking it back again, she watches as the target swings back and forth, narrowing her focus. It’s frustratingly unmarked, surrounded by arrows that litter the ground. Were it knives, the target would be full, bleeding with metal—but that’s not the point. 

Letting out her breath, she releases the arrow and watches it fly in a short arc to the ground. It sits, half taken by the earth a foot away from the target alongside the others. 

“FUCK,” Magnolia yells, hand clenching the bow harder. “Nathaniel, you’re messing with me, you have to be. There is no way I’ve missed this much after following your every word.” 

Nathaniel shakes his head, laughing as he wraps a hand against her shoulder and another around her clenched hand. She softens her hold and he sighs, “You’re not patient enough.” 

“I’m plenty patient,” Magnolia quickly bites, tugging another arrow out. 

An eyebrow raises in doubt on Nathaniel’s face along with a quirk of his lip. Moving behind her, he holds her in place, forcing her still. He feels her twitch wanting to release and holds her tighter. 

“Magnolia, you have many talents, but patience is not one of them,” Nathaniel murmurs, pressing closer. Years ago this would’ve sent him into a nervous fit, breathing into the hair of someone like Magnolia. “They aren’t knives.” 

Watching the target reach its highest point, it tips up before starting to swing down, and he allows her to let go. It releases, soaring across the space between before striking the center with a sharp thunk. The fletching flutters in the wind as it continues to swing; a small but won prize. 

Nathaniel starts to let go, anticipating her excitement, but she remains still. Her eyes are focused forward, lips barely moving with unspoken words. Slowly, she pulls another from her quiver and starts to line it up again. 

Her shoulder nudges him, giving the unspoken direction for him to lean back in. His hands settle on hers once more, but this time he feels her flinch in question to release. 

“Good,” Nathaniel supplies as he lets go along with her, and they watch as it pierces no more than an inch away from the first. “Good!” 

Magnolia pulls back up to stand, placing the bow against the top of the wall. Her gaze is still on the swinging target, watching it rock back and forth. She takes in a deep breath, and with a quick flick of her hand, a small knife flies across the space, puncturing the target. A satisfied chuckle hums from her throat before turning to look back at him. 

“Just wanted to make sure you weren’t messing with me,” she says, shrugging her shoulders. 

“I could have, but I assure you I didn’t,” Nathaniel laughs, tilting his head as he crosses his arms. “Regardless, stick to knives, my grace.” 

Her nose wrinkles in argument. “Stop that.” Looking out to the courtyard, her eyebrows shoot up before settling into a smirk. “Now, you want to practice patience? Let’s go get Anders.” 

“For what purpose?” Nathaniel argues, looking over the edge along with her. “I’m not teaching him bow.” 

Magnolia laughs, moving to nudge Nathaniel’s shoulder. When he looks down at her, the look in her eye drives a chill up his spine. It’s knowing in a way that reminds him far too much of Thomas when he had a plan. 

“Why else, Nate? To mess with him, of course.” 


	15. Sugar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 15: Sugar. Rated T. Nathaniel Howe/Anders. Fluff, food, flirting.

Honey drips along Nathaniel’s finger, swept up into his mouth with a hum. The small vendor in the city actually had the treat he loved so much all those years ago in the Free Marches, and in a not so argued pull of indulgence, he bought some. The bread was sticky and warm with sugar and tucked tightly with fruit at its core. 

If they stay here, he may just have to be wary of how often he’ll feel the need to draw back. 

Pushing his thumb into his mouth, Nathaniel smiles around the digit only for his eyes to fall when he rounds the corner. Anders is leaning in a small alcove just outside of the city gates, legs crossed to hold him up as he speaks to a strange woman. Whatever is in his mouth likely isn’t sweet at all, Nathaniel supposes, but takes a step towards the mage anyways. Perhaps he can save this woman from any further exposure. 

“ _ You’re so sweet _ ,” Anders grins, letting his head fall against his shoulder. His eyes dart up at the sound of footsteps, wide in a fear Nathaniel recognizes all too well, but feels himself settle when Anders’ gaze does the same. “Ah, it’s Nate! I apologize, serah, but he’s actually the one I’m here to see. Thank you for keeping me company though.” 

The woman flushes, giving a quick bow of her head before walking past them into the city. Her eyes linger on Nathaniel a touch longer than he’s comfortable with, but he turns his energy to a now standing Anders. 

“If you wanted to find me, why did you wait out here?” Nathaniel asks, furrowing his brows. He leans into the alcove, pulling out of the street to rest against the opposite wall from Anders. “Even further, what were you talking about with that woman?” 

Anders’ lips quirk into a bigger smile before twisting into a smirk. “Jealous, are we?” He leans in giving a surveying sniff and tilts his head. “Something so bitter for someone that smells so sweet. What do you have?” 

Against better thought, Nathaniel pulls one of the remaining pastries from his satchel and watches Anders’ eyes widen. He’s truly like the feathers on his shoulders sometimes. A small bird, peering over shoulders for something new to steal. 

“I found someone that makes a treat I used to have back in the Free Marches, here in the city. They’re very good, if you’d like to go buy one I could lead you there,” Nathaniel reasons, sending a nod back to the gates. 

Small lines crinkle at Anders’ eyes as he smiles.“What if I don’t like it? Can’t I have a bite of yours first to see?” 

“If you take a bite of it, then it’s yours. I’m not eating after you,” Nathaniel says, pursing his lips.

Anders slinks up a step, closing the gap between them to no more than a foot. Tucking his hands behind his back, he again grins like a cat that has caught the canary. How quickly he manages to turn things around, Nathaniel is dying to know.

“Tear off a piece and feed it to me. That way only you have touched it and it isn’t completely ‘mine’.” 

Anders’ offer is terrible in two ways, Nathaniel realizes, as it falls in a purr from his all too distracting mouth. One, it’s logically sound. Two, it makes his stomach do odd flips at the idea of feeding the mage something. 

“So, what do you say?” 

Nathaniel pinches off a small corner of the bread, poising it between his thumb and two fingers before holding it out in the space between them. A happy hum comes from Anders as he leans forward, opening his mouth to accept the piece as Nathaniel places it in. The rogue’s fingers linger against his lips for a moment longer than he’d wish and pulls back at once hoping Anders didn’t notice. If he did, he’s ignoring it as he chews thoughtfully, hum only growing louder. 

When Anders swallows, he grins. A quick dart of his tongue dances across his bottom lip before he smacks them together, sending Nathaniel’s eyes to unwillfully zero in on the action. 

“Alright, I’m sold,” Anders says, eyes not leaving Nathaniel’s still hovering hand. “Tell me, do you suck the honey off your fingers or clean it off with a cloth like the proper man you are?” 

Nathaniel’s thumb again draws to his mouth, pulling the honey away while watching Anders’ face twist into something he’s never seen. It’s hunger, for certain, but also a touch of something else. The digit pops gently as it leaves his mouth and Anders again smacks his lips. It brings a little pride into Nathaniel’s chest, thinking back to the woman from earlier, and he can’t hold back the soft chuckle that slips from his lips before claiming the other two fingers into his mouth. 

“Come on, now you’re just being mean,” Anders whispers, swallowing as he follows Nathaniel’s hand back out of his mouth to his side. “So? Are you going to tell me where they are, or are you going to just make me watch you eat them while I writhe on the inside?” 

Plucking another pinch of bread, Nathaniel tucks it into his mouth with a smirk. 

“Watching you writhe does sound quite enjoyable, but—” he says, holding his hand forward and Anders eagerly pulls his finger into his mouth. His chest tenses at the sensation, drawing heat to his neck and stomach before fear of being noticed steals it away. Glancing around, no one seems to have seen them, and it draws Nathaniel’s bravery back to run his thumb against Anders’ lower lip. “I think sharing will be fine.” 

  
  



	16. Quaint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 16: Quaint. Rated G. Nathaniel and the awakening crew. Fluff, short and sweet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I'm playing catch up from vacation so these next few are going to be short.

Bags fall against heavily knotted wooden planks and Nathaniel groans. It feels good to stop, if only for a moment from the ceaseless travel they’ve pushed through for most of the day. Rolling his shoulders, he takes a moment to look around the room. This cabin that they found, door open and empty, is now theirs presumably for the night. 

“What do you think?” Magnolia asks, crossing her arms as she takes it in next to him. “Should work, right? Better than sleeping outside, anyways.” 

“You’re damn right it’s better than sleeping outside. Maker, I never thought I could miss walls this much,” Anders laughs, running a hand against the stone. “It was a joke. You can laugh.” 

“What if I don’t want to?” Magnolia replies, earning narrowed eyes from Anders, but looks over at Nathaniel. “ _ Howe _ do you feel about it?”

Velanna makes a sharp noise, one might mistake as a laugh, across the room and Anders throws his arms up in frustration. “So you’ll laugh at a ‘Howe’ joke!” 

Nathaniel rubs his forehead, thumb and forefinger drawing up skin between them before setting again. He looks down at Magnolia and shrugs before turning back to the room. It’s a building. It’s a place to sleep. It’s—

“It’s quaint,” Nathaniel says, and the room stops unpacking to look at him. They’re clearly waiting on him to elaborate, but all he can say is, “Well, it is.” 

Anders throws a look back to Velanna, poising a hand on his now puffed up chest. His eyebrows wiggle and the other mage snorts. 

“ _ Quaint _ . How very droll this little shack is, but add a few family crests and vases and it could really be something. Perhaps a vacation home in the summer,” Anders’ tone is low, dripping with as much money as he can put into it, regardless of the two silver that sits in his pocket. “My dear, can you please obtain me no less than three fur rugs? I would hate to walk on something I haven’t shown my power over. Trees are simply too easy to hunt.” 

Nathaniel looks to Magnolia for backup in any form to the mocking of the lives they’ve both lived, she even more so than him, but finds the woman laughing into her hand. His fists clench once before falling back open against his sides. 

“Come on, you should’ve known when you used that word, Nate,” Magnolia soothes, running a hand against his arm. “It’s alright, Anders wouldn’t know class if it tied him up to a headboard.” 

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Mags,” Anders warns with a grin. “Yes, Nate. Sorry for teasing your articulate word choice. It is quaint, I suppose.” 

He sighs in defeat, walking to lean against the wall as the others continue to unpack. 

Things like this still slip past Nathaniel, but it’s less and less as the days go on, and that settles him. He’s finding a place again. He’s learning boundaries, steadily, with a probing reach. Things are simpler, if not more odd, than they used to be years ago.

It’s an intangible home in and of itself with these wardens, and Maker, it’s quaint. 


	17. Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 17: Storm Nathaniel Howe & Velanna. Set during DA2.

The path to Weisshaupt is as treacherous as it is long. Through snow covered mountains, riddled with flurries that beat harshly against Nathaniel’s face. He’s travelled through storms before in his many years, but never one like this. Where all they can do is huddle into an aside in the mountain, praying it will weaken for them to continue. 

“Why would they build it all the way out here?” Nathaniel mutters an answer that he knows the answer to. “Right, the wardens never do anything easy.” 

Velanna laughs to herself, culling the fire higher against her palm. “Come now, Nathaniel, it could be worse.” 

He looks out the mouth of the cave and squints, turning back to look at her. With a sharply pointed hand he gestures to the solid white view. 

“We could have Sigrun telling us how amazing it is and how she’s never seen this much snow,” She grins, pulling her coat tighter around her arms. “Or the commander trying to make us keep going because it’s ‘not that bad’.”

Nathaniel laughs, nodding weakly. “I suppose you’re right.” 

They’ve been called in by the First Warden on business relating to the Architect and all Nathaniel can think of is that they’re being summoned to be killed. Letting a darkspawn of that kind of power go only for a spoken agreement is unheard of, but with the potential help of the Calling, they knew they couldn’t turn the help away. 

The culling fear that sits in his stomach with each passing day is more than enough reason to try. A storm in its own right, lingering on the horizon, waiting to take him under. Such is the burden of blood that is tainted, duty bound until the end. 

“What do you think it will be like?” Nathaniel asks, looking back out. 

“Quiet,” Velanna answers. 

“Sorry, you’re right. We should conserve our energy.” 

“No, you fool. I meant I think it will be quiet.” 

“Ah,” Nathaniel hums, smiling softly. “Perhaps. I know it will be for certain without the rest of them here. There is no telling what chaos that would bring. Can you imagine Oghren there? Anders?” 

“We don’t want the fortress to  _ fall _ ,” Velanna tsks, resting her head against her knees. She’s quiet for a moment before sighing. “I miss him. Stupid, isn’t it?” 

A soft pull tugs in Nathaniel’s stomach thinking about the other mage. He’s been gone six years now without word and he’s certain he’ll never see him again. Not after everything that’s happened, lest they catch each other’s eye in the deep roads into their last descent. 

“No, it isn’t,” Nathaniel replies, drawing his coat in tighter and settles in for the night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm playing hardcore catch up so these next ten will be short. I may come back later on and expand upon them, but for now, bare with me.


	18. Even

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 18: Even Nathaniel & Delilah Howe, Female Cousland. Fluff and humor.

"It's not right." 

Nathaniel looks to his left, eyes narrowed. "What do you mean it isn't right? Look at it. It's perfect." 

He steps down from the ladder, eyeing the paintings that he's just finished hanging against the wall. The one of his mother taken from the keep as well as one done of Thomas after everything settled. It feels haunting, yet appropriate to have them here. Staring, judging eyes that linger from the past. He closes an eye, holding out his hand as proof against his finger and Delilah scoffs. 

"They aren't even," She says, leaning up to adjust her mother's portrait just so. "Now, they are." 

He once again eyes the paintings, staring at the gap in between. It's crooked, smaller at the top in the smallest way. His eye twitches along with his smile that tweaks on his lips. It's never going to be settled like this, he knows his sister well enough for that, and yet. 

"Delilah, my dear sister, you need your eyes checked. Look at the gap," He says, pointing to the top. "I know you well enough, though. So, I'll bring in an outside opinion to settle this." 

"Don't. She'll just agree with you and that solves nothing." 

Nathaniel laughs, tipping the portrait back. "If you think that Magnolia will agree with me just because she likes me, then you haven't spent enough time around her. She'll tell me I'm wrong just to keep me level-headed, but with this especially, it will bother her just as much." 

"We don't need her. We need," Delilah says pointedly as she shifts the frame again, "it to sit like this." 

"You're insufferable," Nathaniel accuses, turning to walk back into the foyer, "the Maker cursed me with one little sister and told me, no, you need another. I'm going to get her and if she agrees with you, consider it over." 

Delilah crosses her arms, waving a hand to urge him on and turns back to the portraits. When Nathaniel finds their guest, curled up into an armchair asleep in the study, he almost reconsiders. Why wake her for something so menial as an argument over art? Right, Nathaniel thinks, because it needs to be correct. Pushing against her shoulder, he nudges her awake. 

Magnolia blinks slowly, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. "Sorry, I didn't mean to doze off." 

"It's quite alright. You're a guest, and now we know those chairs are comfortable. I hate to bother you, but I need something settled and Delilah is being absolutely stubborn about it," Nathaniel explains. He holds a hand out, pulling her up from the chair and laughs as she straightens herself back out. "You're our mediator, Mags. Hard to believe, I know." 

She sighs, stretching up on her toes. "Point me to it." 

When they enter the room Magnolia stops, narrowing her eyes at the wall. She tilts her head, walking around to the side, to get another angle and sighs. "Hi, Delilah. So, why are those paintings crooked?" 

"Ha!" Nathaniel accuses, a little louder than he thought, and settles his hands back against his stomach. "I mean, see?" 

"I told you she would take your side!" Delilah argues, walking up to Nathaniel to poke a finger in his chest. "Unfair." 

"Now, now, I didn't even know who set the frames when I came in. I could have very well had disagreed with him. So, it's even," Magnolia reasons, walking up to the portraits. She reaches out, adjusting Thomas' gently and smiles. "There. Perfect." 

Nathaniel and Delilah look back to the portraits and settle at once. Now that they're resting, truly resting against the wall of their former home, it feels different. Delilah curls a hand around her brother's waist, pulling him in tight. A kiss is placed on her head and he smiles. 

"Thank you," Nathaniel murmurs and hears Magnolia hum happily as she passes them to walk back to the sitting room. 

"You're welcome, Nate." 


	19. Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 19: Broken. Nathaniel Howe/Anders. Closet kisses. Suggestion. Secret relationship.

The shelf shudders against Anders’ weight as he’s shoved against it. Soft clinking of jars and containers don’t register over the heavy huffing of breath between the men. Nathaniel breathes against his mouth, lip trembling with the adrenaline that is still pulsing in his ears, and smiles.

Anders’ lips are captured within his once more, harsh and hungry. Fingers are in his hair much the same and Anders pulls him harder as if there was any space left. It’s all hot breath and smacking of lips laced with groans of pleasure and irritation. They don’t have much time, they don’t even have _this_ time, really. Dancing around one another all day finally broke when they were tasked with collecting things from the storage room.

They made it a single step in the room before Anders kissed him.

Nathaniel presses forward again, biting at his lower lip, making the mage sink against the shelf with a whine. He continues to sink, humming softly with clear intent. A soft nudge to his thigh perks him back up and Nathaniel laughs against his mouth.

“We don’t have time for that,” Nathaniel murmurs, moving to nip at his neck. “Later.”

“Later might never get here if we have to keep running around all day. We’ll all settle, pretend to be asleep, then you’ll _actually_ be asleep,” Anders mutters, letting his head fall back and winces at the clink of glass. “I just want to—“

“I know what you want,” Nathaniel whispers, kissing up to his ear. He runs his teeth against the freckled crest, smirking when he feels Anders shudder in his touch. “ _Later_.”

Anders groans, fingers curling tight into the fabric of Nathaniel’s uniform. “So what do I get now?”

“You get the privilege of not being yelled at by the commander.” Nathaniel places another kiss on his cheek and releases Anders’ hands to move back towards the door. 

He makes it only a step back before Anders pulls him back harshly, making him stumble forward against the mage’s chest. Behind him, the shelf no longer shudders, but completely shakes. Jars tip forward into the air, leaving a single moment for Anders to cast a weak barrier before they shatter against the ground. It rains sound and glass around the men’s feet, forcing them to curl into one another. The sound is all consuming even against the heavy thud of their hearts. 

Once everything settles, Anders drops the spell with a sigh, wincing at the ground. In the distance there are muffled voices, growing closer with every second.

“So, about later?” Anders laughs, finding Nathaniel’s narrowed eyes. “I’m guessing we’ll take a rain check?”

“After the commander finishes with us we may not be taking anything but kitchen duty for a month,” Nathaniel mutters, but leans in to kiss Anders a final time. He tucks a stray piece of hair back into place, smiling when Anders returns the favor. “I’ll find you later.”

“Promise?”

“So long as it isn’t in another closet,” Nathaniel sighs, a smile daring to quirk on his lips as the door opens behind them.

“Deal,” Anders whispers. Ducking around Nathaniel’s shoulder he sighs, dramatically. “Commander, our Rogue doesn’t have sticky fingers at all.” He glances back up to Nathaniel who is now biting back a laugh. “They’re all butter.”


End file.
